


Stairway to Heaven

by TheMadHatterOfficial



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels are Dicks, Brainwashing, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, idk how to tag, nonbinary Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:27:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29059758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMadHatterOfficial/pseuds/TheMadHatterOfficial
Summary: But not you! Not the "one off the line with a crack in his chassis."Castiel is broken. Has always been deeply, fundamentally broken in a way that no one could ever fix.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 8





	1. Hanu

The first human to ever catch Castiel’s eye was a young orphan girl from Asia.

She was loud. _Unapologetically_ loud, her mind nearly as sharp as the blade she wielded in battle, teeth bared and eyes flashing something fierce that had Castiel’s breath catching in their throat.

Perhaps it was time to finally visit Earth. As a captain of their garrison, who led armies and sieges against the enemies that threatened Heaven’s gates, there was a possibility that they could learn from these hairless apes that their father loved so.

There was this swing that hung from the tallest branches of the weeping willow tree.

Castiel remembered when it was first planted. They remember when its roots took hold in the soil, the very first of its species. So very young, and yet already ancient in comparison.

Hanu’s laughter was the brightest thing in the universe, her hands gentle and calloused and hotter than the sun and the stars above. Castiel pushed her on the swing, her toes just barely scraping the ground as she leaned back until her hair pooled in the grass. A piece caught just behind her ear and Castiel pulled it out on the next upswing.

The branches creaked as Hanu went higher. She grinned at Castiel’s hesitance, one of her front teeth twisted and crooked, threatening the break through her lip. _“Coward,”_ Hanu would sneer before propelling herself further into the draping weeps of the tree.

Hanu was an angry woman. She was stunning and wild, and Castiel found himself in awe of her righteous fury, blinding in its ferocity and rage.

She could’ve been an angel, in another world.

 _“Do you ever think that you were meant for more?”_ Hanu would frequently ask with a somber lilt. _“Do you ever believe that you are worth more than this pious game they have you play?”_

Every time Castiel would answer, looking into her eyes as their fingers traced long-healed scars sewn together with broken memories, _“I don’t know what I believe.”_

Her whispers were prayers to long-dead gods, her lips were salvation to Castiel’s broken parts, mending them back together with burnished gold and over full promises.

* * *

 _“We were not made for this,”_ Naomi cooed in their ear. _“This is not what we are.”_

 _“_ **_Fuck_ ** _you.”_

Naomi’s ring split Castiel’s lip, the white walls around them closing in in in until there was no more air in the room.

 _“That’s no matter though.”_ Naomi closed in, hands colder than her eyes as her spit flew down to mix with their blood. _“Just a few screws loose.”_

_“Won’t even remember a thing.”_


	2. Cesare

His name was Cesare and he was beautiful.

Those days were always warm and sticky-sweet, tinged in rose colored lights and the dying glow of the sun setting and rising. Castiel remembered tracing the freckles across his cheeks, murmuring constellations and the names of long-dead novas as Cesare’s nose scrunched up beneath his fingers.

Then his eyes would open, wide and questioning before the lines around them would fold as he laughed. Castiel would sigh, falling forward until their foreheads would press together like children telling secrets on the schoolyard.

_ “I love you,” _ Cesare would say.

_ “I don’t know how,”  _ Castiel would reply.

_ “That’s okay.” _ Cesare always had some sort of charcoal or paint on his hands that never quite dried. They left tracks over Castiel’s face, their arms, their throat and their thighs, painting reds and blues and greens as they pressed bruises into the soft spots on their skin.  _ “I can teach you.” _

Sometimes, Castiel mourned that Cesare would never see their true face.

The one he paints on his canvas is not them. Cesare would never know how bright Castiel was, would never get the right shades of blues and silvers that his form takes, would never be able to stare at him with the same awe and reverence that he does to their vessel’s face.

But then he would capture something in Castiel’s eyes. He would paint the way they squinted into the sun, or a certain way their lips would curl when they held back a smile, and Castiel would forget everything else but the smell of Cesare’s paint and the taste of Cesare’s tongue.

* * *

_ “Here we are. Yet again.” _

The straps of Naomi’s chair dug into Castiel’s wrists and angles. They cut and bit at every bit of exposed skin, marking Castiel in a way that seemed to scorch something deep inside where his soul would be.

Naomi’s hands were tight where they gripped at Castiel’s jaw.  _ “I thought we learned our lesson last time. And the time before that. And the time before  _ **_that_ ** _.” _

When she pulled away there was charcoal staining Naomi’s fingertips.

The tears were hot where they ran down Castiel’s cheeks.

_ “Please,”  _ Castiel begged.  _ “Please let me fall. Let me go back. Please. He needs me. He needs me.” _

Castiel prays for the first time in a long time.

(Father doesn’t answer. Then again, had he ever?)


End file.
